Illusion Of Flight
Getting out of nowhere
Making sense of nothingness
You are on the road to somewhere there is only red colours
Loitering with reds marching into the unknown area of truth
Daring to touch the possibilities of lives
Make speeches on the stage of flashed poetry in conflict
A man without a hat bare-footed smiles on the restaurant of commercial faces
Related quotes
Graduation
Splashing in the water
Dancing in the rain
Having so much fun
Feeling the drops on my face.
Making so many friends
Sharing the memories we all laugh at today.
Seeing our faces
Watching us grow up
And watching us walk down that stage.
Flashbacks of memories
That we've held on for years
All of that behind us
Ready to make new ones to share.
Reaching for that diploma
Our lives about to begin
Big smiles on our faces
Knowing were about to begin.
Looking back with no regrets....
poem by Chantel Braatz
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Yobby
If loving you was a mistake,
The i don't want to be right;
If knowing you was a mistake,
Then i don't want to be known;
For i am Yobby in the land of your muse,
And like the mango tree and the banana tree living together.
Ice age,
Your are of poetry;
Bronze age,
My area of poetry;
Stone age,
Her area of poetry;
Golden age,
His area of poetry;
And like the English Literature! !
But, i do have the English Poetry for you;
For, you are my poetry.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Big Or Brief Poetry......!
Big or brief, what is poetry?
Poetry is......
Creating beauty out of blemish,
Making order out of disorder,
Producing meaning out of musical words,
Creating Universal truth out of trivialities,
Arranging points out of less known facts!
Is poetry just making rhythm and rhyme
Without meaning, life, force and taste,
Without free flowing musical words,
Without words of music, beauty, fun?
Poetry is free flowing river of words
With full of images, lively and lovely,
Transporting from this world to that world
Forgetting himself and readers here!
Just end rhyme is not enough to make it so;
Internal rhymes make music in rhythm
Making all enjoy music, meaning and ideas!
Poetry is the medium to say complex things
Not possible to say in other forms of language,
Saying unknown things using known things;
It is sound, substance, message and meaning!
And many more matters to many men in the world!
poem by Ramesh T A
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No Taking Down
Precisely the truth
truth is as truth
does truth is meant
for the strong
while lies were ment
for the weak those with
bleak smiles and sad faces
those who can not deal
with the trial that
life faces those who
cry out for there mama
to save them from that
mean man preaching to
them the hideous truth
the man that is not afraid
who will not buckle under
pressure of dislike
but will stand fast on
the word of God and his
truth
poem by Prince KnightenRodgers
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Turn The Page
On a long and lonesome highway, east of omaha.
You can listen to the engine moaning out its one lone song
You can think about woman, or the girl you knew the night before,
But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do.
When your riding sixteen hours and theres nothing much to do
And you dont feel much like riding, you just wish the trip was through.
Say, here I am, on the road again. there I am, up on the stage.
Here I go, playing star again.
There I go, turn the page.
Well you walk into a restaurant, strung out from the road,
You can feel the eyes upon you as your shaking off the cold
You pretend it doesnt bother you, but you just want to explode.
Most times you cant hear em talk, other times you can.
Oh the same old cliche, as that woman on her a man
You always see my number, you dont dare make a stand.
Here I am, on the road again. there I am, up on the stage.
Here I go, playing star again.
There I go, turn the page.
Out there in the spotlight your a million miles away,
Every ounce of energy, you try and give away,
As the sweat pours out your body like the music that you play.
Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed,
With the echo from the amplifiers ringing in your head,
You smoke the days last cigarette, remembering what she said.
Now here I am, on the road again. there I am, up on the stage.
Here I go, playing star again.
There I go, turn the page.
Here I am, on the road again. there I am, up on the stage.
Ah here I go, playing star again.
There I go, there I go.
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Setting Sun
Just before the sun starts to set, a gentle golden glow
Spreads across the weary world, way down below.
The sun has the Midas touch; a touch of pure gold,
But it’s not long until the world starts to fall cold.
The sky is streaked with shades of pinks and reds,
Signalling that, tomorrow, there’s a fine day ahead.
In the late noon sky, there’s a spectacular show;
A myriad of colours, before the daylight goes.
The colours that are seen, all have a warm hue:
They look so amazing against the sky so blue.
It’s when people, from their tasks, pack away,
And has always been my favourite time of day.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Haunted By Their Memory
Why with all the faces that we knew,
does a few seem to fill our thoughts
and haunt us sometimes for days.
The problem with these faces
they are of friends who faded away
and will not be seen again.
Is this our memory telling us
we should have been closer then
and not let their friendship drift away?
That we should have kept in touch more.
Spoke more on the telephone,
and wrote a letter or two,
maybe even visited from time to time.
Now we are haunted by their faces
for things we should have done, but never did.
Is this our punishment for not making the time
to keep in touch with them
that their faces haunt us.
Punishing us on a daily basis
knowing its too late now,
as they are no longer with us.
Could it be they are there as a lesson to learn?
That when something rare comes into our lives
we should embrace it strongly and not turn it away
for it will never come back.
Once it has gone from us
all we will be left with is faces
and haunted by their memory.
23 February 2009
poem by David Harris
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Potential Poetry!
Love has no fear whatsoever in the world;
Poet does all by his love of all matters here;
Poetry is inspiring words of poet for all!
What's not possible by poetry is nothing!
Impossible is expressed in possible words
Making unknown known by poetry only!
Forms and style are poets own creations;
Poetry is ever new in expression of ideas
Inspiring all to be enthusiastic, enlightened!
Love of Nature, life, beauty and love poetry
Explores always deep to express truth new!
Poets are gods of Earth to men to new realm!
Poetry briefly converges all in a nutshell
As powerful as atomic energy in control!
poem by Ramesh T A
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There Are So Many Ways Of Making Poetry
THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS OF MAKING POETRY
There are many ways of making Poetry
Some make poetry simply
As I do –
Others are richer by far.
Some like the surface
And others like hidden depths and mysteries.
There are many ways of making poetry
I have only one which is my own
But there are so so many others
More beautiful and deep and perhaps more everlasting.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Come to poet
Come to poet
And listen poem
In poem find life
Life detach.
Detachment only truth
Truth is nothingness
Nothingness is nothingness
Only nothingness is true.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Faces Of Contemporary Poetry
faces are layers of intellect and sensationalities
poetry is a specific discourse, having a possibilities of alchemizing universal, individual, societal, polotical, personal, humanistic and intellectual zone-a multi-layered one! ! !
multi-layered realities exist as poetry in the contemporaneous worlds/zones
you are in a way a poet or a publisher of poetry.
I complain of my own nothingness
I COMPLAIN OF MY OWN NOTHINGNESS
I complain of my own nothingness
And I ask God for Help.
Am I a hypocrite or just a fool?
Or perhaps more kindly put
A person of the eternal human contradictions?
I complain of my own nothingness
And ask God for Help.
God Who has given me so much,
Why did You also have to give me
My sense of my own nothingness, also?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Self-pity gets you nowhere. One must have the adventurous daring to accept oneself as a bundle of possibilities and undertake the most interesting game in the world -- making the most of one's best.
quote by Richard Willard Armour
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Creep Hymn
The creep
Goes to a restaurant
And order the food to eat at the restaurant
But when the food comes he eats a little bit of the food
Just so he can taste it
And he tells everybody very loud that the food that he order
Taste like shit
And then he takes the plate and throws it on the floor
But he lives the restaurant without pay
The waitress from the restaurant looks everywhere for him in the Restaurant
Sorry waitress he is gone out of the door
And he run away so that you couldn't catch him
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Poetry On The Chin
You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.
You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.
You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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When Poetry....
When Poetry is with me
I am the ablest soul on earth
like Hercules or Suryasut Karna
when poetry is not with me
I am just remains of burnt papers.
When poetry blesses me
with its favor of earmark.
I need no other blessing then
recesses of my being overspills
with joy ineffable!
My sky begins to sing songs
of interminable daybreak
I become a gala of pure feelings
suffused with efflorescence of life.
When poetry leaves me alone
dead and decaying leaves of negations
spread over in my talent's garden
I become a singed wall
which was once bedecked
by fine letters of arcane moments.
When poetry denies me
I am no less than the woman
who's had hysterectomy.
Nothingness exudes through
every pore of my existence
and cosmic hollowness fills me.
When poetry stands by me
life gets even lovelier and
by far worthy of living
truth dawns upon me
and curiosity snowballs
for unfolding still a greater truth.
When poetry is with me...
@@@
poem by Madhav Sarkunde
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Please Do Not Be Disappointed With My Poetry
in the first place i do not really rhyme
not that i can't but i don't because i like it to be just that
like my life, i do not really rhyme with the world
there is more conflict
than harmony, i do not jibe and jam well with
yes, anybody, it simply takes time for them to really understand me
more more time for me too to understand them
and like them
and like me, as though living life is just a matter of liking each other
period, and not really trying to learn and be compassionate
and have this little sense of tolerance
this sense
of perhaps, he is just ekking his way to a steep mountain of his
trying hard
(copycat) of just trying to live in authenticity
honesty, that is the simplest word we can say
i always think of other things
sometimes people are just cruel
they want patterns they want people to be like other people
setting models
and trails made also by men and women with the usual human brains
poor judgments come and we do not bother we simply want others to
live normal lives
nothing deviant, shy away from the genius of ingenuity
trekking new paths
not minding the dangers of the unknown spreading like a red carpet
before our feet
back to poetry, this is my poetry and by now you have noticed
they are written as they come inside my mind
no patterns no molds no shape no expectations no
AA BB CC DD
just plain talk, spontaneous, like a tear falling from your eyes
shaping itself to pain and then falling without style
like a candle melting to the fire and shaping itself
in the air
there is simply no dictation of where and how and what
like ourselves our lives like chocolates in the box
of Forest Gump
we just don't know what we really get
we just let go
and let live and then die and be buried
tears for a while, and then
yes, forever forgotten.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cryptic Utterances Make a Foolish Kind Of Poetry
Cryptic utterances make a foolish kind of poetry
At the other side of the rose is a flower whose name we do not know-
Where the lights of love flicker the moonlight flickers also
Where we are in our lives and where we will be in our deaths
Are not the same song-
A man walks down a road and never comes home-
The cities on the hill are all filled with pioneering sadnesses-
Time and memory play out their losses without mercy-
All we are and all we know waits for us on the other side of a distant star-
Cryptic utterances make a foolish kind of poetry
And I in my laughter play a game with words
Until the silence like the waves of the sea
Covers us with miniscule grains unknown.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Turn The Page
(originally recorded by bob seger)
On a long and lonesome highway east of omaha
You can listen to the engines moaning out as one note song
You think about the woman or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do
When youre riding sixteen hours and theres nothing much to do
And you dont feel much like riding, you just wish the trip was through
Here I am - on the road again
There I am - up on the stage
Here I go - playing star again
There I go - turn the page
So you walk into this restaurant strung out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you, as youre shaking off the cold
You pretend it doesnt bother you, but you just want to explode
Yeah, most times you cant hear em talk, other times you can
All the same old clichs, is it woman? is it man?
And you always seem outnumbered, you dont dare make a stand
Make your stand
Here I am - on the road again
There I am - up on the stage
Here I go - playing star again
There I go - turn the page
Oo-ooh, out there in the spotlight, youre a million miles away
Every ounce of energy you try to give away
As the sweat pours out your body like the music that you play, yeah
Later in the evening, you lie awake in bed
With the echoes of the amplifiers ringing in your head
You smoke the days last cigarette, remembering what she said
What she said
He-ey
Yeah
And here I am - on the road again
There I am - up on a stage
Here I go - playing star again
There I go - turn the page
There I go - turn that page
There I go, yeah, yeah
There I go, yeah, yeah
There I go, yeah
There I go, yeah
There I go, oo-oo-ooh
There I go
And Im gone
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I could have done other useful things than writing a poem
Sometimes I have regrets writing poems
Love poems, poems about virtue and heroism
Poems that explain myself, that justify
This nothingness
That fill this emptiness,
What are these but signs and metaphors of
My weaknesses,
Symbols of my hopelessness
Ciphers of my uselessness
To life’s dreams, unfulfilled, stars that I have not
Reach or even touch with the words in my lips
I could have danced, and danced so well
Sweat things out shedding sighs and skins on the floors
I could have played a role, acted my way out
Exiting through the doors of author’s characters
And feel this sense of
It was her it was him it was not me
Sometimes I feel
To be a poet is to be dumb and dead
To demand nothing but this honor
This laurel this principle
That I cannot eat that I cannot sell that I cannot
Make use of,
Useless poetry, trashy, nothing but bad breathes
Of my being
Foul and nauseating to my sense of
What I dream what I want to be
To be this great, respected man of power
One that commands rather than take orders
From someone claiming superior feathers
I have long wanted to stop but here I am again
An addict to poetry destined for rehabilitation
In distant cruel word processing centers
Just like you, here I am again, not stopping
My fingers always wanting to type the words
My mind always listening
my heart always mouthing
Words, words, words, these words
This poem
This poem is born and I am its tributary
I am this poet now without a face without a name
I am but a mouth, fingers to my hand
Always not stopping, how can I tell you why?
When I myself, do not really know. I am this poem
With an unknown author, I am this poem just written
Taking shape like a candle lighting,
Flowing from your thoughts
Taking the forms of beings unknown to us
We claim we understand we claim we can live with
You are now lost asking the way
You could have done other things than reading this poem
Precisely this is what I really feel. Do you feel it now?
Yes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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